


Three Little Words

by ladyoneill



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Hell, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-05 10:03:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3115982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/ladyoneill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Together for a year, Dean and Cas argue a lot, and Dean's mouth tends to run away from him, making Cas flitter off, but never for more than a day or two.  This time it's five days before Cas returns because Dean said three little words (and not I love you).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Little Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Totallytwistedwords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Totallytwistedwords/gifts).



> I used the following prompt: "Why are you late?" "Someone told me to go to hell. It took a while, but I'm here now." Hope you like it!

It doesn't matter that they've been together as a couple for over a year. They fight a lot--but then they always have. Cas has always been proficient at the icy shoulder, while Dean burns hot. Dean yells, curses, threatens. Cas responds with frosty, emotionless words that hurt just as much.

Sometimes they just stop, forgetting the original cause of the fight, making up with hot kisses and nearly violent sex.

Other times Cas flits off, forcing Dean to cool down on his own. If the fight is bad enough, he does it by drinking himself into a stupor, waking with an aching head, dulled mind, and the taste of something dead in his mouth.

On his second six pack, Dean can't even remember what they were fighting about earlier in the day. Probably something incredibly stupid and/or pointless, as most of their arguments are. He's at the morose stage, whining for Cas to come back or Sam to come commiserate with him.

Sam learned soon after the first fight after Dean and Cas finally got past their hang-ups and got together that he wants nothing to do with either of them when they get into it. Like most of the previous arguments and aftermaths, he's locked himself in his room with his headphones on and his laptop open to a silly sitcom.

The headphones became necessary during the first make-up session that ended up with Dean and Cas fucking on top of one of the library tables.

Not something he ever wants to walk in on again.

Ignored by both his brother and his angel, Dean passes out on the couch.

The aroma of coffee both wakes him and turns his stomach. Grabbing at it, Dean stumbles into the bathroom and vomits up all the beer and everything he's eaten in the last couple of days. Doing so is gross, but also assists in clearing his mind, and after rinsing his mouth, he glares at his reflection in the mirror.

"You're an idiot."

His reflection blinks bleary, bloodshot eyes in agreement.

When he finally makes it into the kitchen, he finds it empty, a note next to the half-empty coffee pot informing him that Sam found a simple ghost job in Oklahoma and should be back in a couple days.

Dean's noticed that Sam tends to take himself well out of the line of fire when Castiel disappears to cool down.

Smart.

He wishes he could wander off for a while. If they don't make up right away, about half the time when Castiel finally returns, they end up letting everything stew and fester for days before they explode into another fight.

Filling a cup with coffee and slumping down at the table, Dean rubs his aching temples and wonders if all this is worth it.

Then the images of Cas smiling at him, bringing him his favorite burger from California, the one with the special sauce and a side of curly fries crisped to perfection, giving him a look of pride and affection when Dean solves a mystery, come at him in swarms. Closing his eyes, he sees them sitting on the couch watching tv, Castiel more human than angel, his lips twitching as he smiles at some romcom. He remembers the delight on his face the first time he tasted Gates barbeque in Kansas City; the confusion at first that turned to amazement when Dean took him to his first Jayhawk basketball game; his hand taking Dean's as they ran from a burning corpse, its ghost frying behind them.

It's love.

Took them both a long time in accepting it, facing it, but it's true and solid.

But, at their core, they're still who they've always been--angel and human--and more often than not Castiel doesn't understand Dean and vice versa. Sometimes Dean thinks the angel is being obstinately obtuse, because he's been on earth off and on for over seven years; he's even been human at times--and it irks him when Cas doesn't understand him.

Though, on mornings like this, Dean can accept that he's never made it easy. He fought the attraction much harder and longer than Castiel did, and he knows he hurt the angel by pushing him away, denying he liked him, wanted him, too many times.

He knows Cas would never give up on him, but he just kept pushing, daring him to leave, until a moment of clarity came to him and he realized he was hurting himself as much as Castiel.

He could be happy.

So, Dean was the one to make the first move, to press the first kiss to those temptingly chapped lips.

To his eternal surprise, Cas was the one to take charge after that.

Taking a sip of coffee, Dean smiles a bit sadly, and hopes Castiel comes home soon.

Two days later his phone rings and Dean dives for it. Cas is rarely gone this long. Dean gave him his space for the first day but since then has been calling every hour, worrying more and more as the angel's phone went straight to voicemail.

But, it's not Castiel. It's Sam, who's found something new to take care of before he returns to the bunker--Dean figures it's a woman, but he doesn't press, just wanting the phone free.

Another day passes. Dean doesn't sleep more than a few hours at time. He doesn't leave the bunker either in case Cas pops back in. He cleans every gun in the place, polishes the knives and swords, makes notes on supplies they're running low on, and paces a lot.

Two more days pass and Dean is going nuts. He hasn't showered, has barely eaten or slept, and definitely hasn't given into the desire for booze. Being sober when Castiel comes home is the only option.

Because it's going to be when, not if, because he cannot handle even the thought that Cas won't ever come back.

He's dozing at the kitchen table, the sandwich he made barely touched, when he feels fingers in his hair, and he jerks awake and up.

Castiel looks...

Bad.

His coat is torn and burned in places. His shirt is stained with dried blood and in tatters. There are bruises on his face and the skin over his knuckles is broken.

Jumping to his feet, Dean yells, "Where have you been? Fuck, Cas, I know we argued, but you've been gone for over five days and ignoring me and what the Hell happened to you? Are you okay? You look horrible!"

Castiel gives him a tired look and sinks down into a free chair, tremors going through him, and all the frustration floods out of Dean, replaced by deep concern.

"You told me to go to Hell. It took me awhile to get back out."

Stunned, Dean gapes at him then drops back into his chair like a stone. "No," he whispers. "Jesus, Cas, no. I..."

"Am too literal still," Cas finishes, his voice gravelly and exhausted. "I realized that too late."

Yeah, he is, but nothing this bad has happened in years.

Guilt joins the worry, and he reaches out to brush his fingers over the back of one of Castiel's abused hands. "I'm so sorry."

A light fills the angel's eyes and he whispers, "You rarely apologize."

"I sent you to Hell," comes out numbly. Hell...he's intimately familiar with it, and a shudder goes through him as he pictures Castiel fighting his way through the infinite wasteland of fire and stone and pain and blood and millions of demons. Tears sting his eyes and he drags Cas' hand to his lips. "Forgive me, oh please."

"The argument was my doing. I ask for your forgiveness for it."

Jerking his eyes up to those unfathomable blue ones, Dean shakes his head in shock. "What? I. Sent. You. To. Hell!" he reiterates.

"You told me to go to Hell," Castiel corrects. "I have been there before. It only took three weeks to return to you. Much quicker than my last visit."

Mouth falling open, Dean gapes again, then he mentally shakes himself and pushes to his feet. "Come on, I need to check your wounds, get you cleaned up. Wh--why haven't you healed yourself?"

"Exhaustion. The wounds were much worse."

His matter-of-fact tone just makes Dean feel more horrible.

"Dean, you are not at fault," he adds sternly, and Dean feels himself flushing because he knows his guilt has to be showing all over his face.

"Sorry, Cas, you're not going to convince me of that anytime soon," he mutters as he helps his angel stand and starts the slow shuffle towards their bathroom.

Castiel huffs but allows Dean to help him for once. Usually he, like Dean himself, are annoying self-sufficient.

In the bathroom, Dean peels off the ruined coat, then unknots the loose tie before fumbling with the buttons on the shirt. His fingers are trembling. He's both relieved that Castiel is home and alive, horrified at what he went through, and guilty for all of it.

When the shirt drops to the floor, Dean does as well, removing Cas' shoes, then working the belt free. Cas steps out of the trousers and stumbles a bit. Pushing to his feet, Dean steadies him, then sits him down on the closed toilet, before wetting a cloth and digging out the first aid kit. He goes back to his knees and begins the gentle task of washing away the dried blood.

"The wounds are closed, Dean. I feel no pain. I'm just...tired."

That the angel is tired chills Dean's heart, but he mechanically cleans him. While Cas can play at human, allowing himself to be tired so he can sleep, he's sure in this case the exhaustion is real.

Once he's clean, Dean dabs antiseptic on the cut knuckles and the remnant of a stab wound to his stomach. As he imagines a demonic knife cutting that firm flesh, his heart clenches.

Castiel's hand comes down lightly on his sagging shoulder. "Dean, I'm okay. I just need to rest."

"Yeah, I...um..." He busies himself with putting away the kit, then rising to wash his shaking hands. "I'll let you do that."

"Not alone," Cas says firmly and strong arms wrap around Den from behind. "You are tired, too. I'm sorry for that, for the worry I caused..."

"Stop," comes out strangled. He can't...can't let...

"All right. We are both to blame. We are both going to put this behind us and go forward."

Slowly Dean nods because he knows if he keeps blaming himself, it's going to ruin something between them. Turning in Castiel's arms, he cups his cheeks, drawing his eyes up to his. "Just...promise me that you won't ever do that again, take what I say so literally."

"It's still hard for me, but I'll try." A gleam fills those pale blue eyes and he rises on his toes to brush their lips together. "Come to bed. I want to hold you while we sleep and, then..." One hand slides down Dean's back to cup his ass. "It's been a few days for you. It's been weeks for me," he growls.

"...Yeah," Dean stammers out, too tired to feel anything right now, to want more than sleep, but when they wake up.

"Make up sex always seems to make you happy."

Flushing, Dean nods, and lets his angel guide them both to bed. After stripping off his dirty clothes, he sends a quick text to his brother to stay away for a couple more days, then curls beneath the sheets with his lover.

End


End file.
